


Because We Almost Died

by shadowsamurai



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Angst, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the day we are born, we are all dying. Sam, however, doesn't really care. She knows praying won't save her, and while she knows death is inevitable, she still has regrets, and her biggest one is sitting opposite her. Not that he knows, of course. He has no idea what he means to her; in fact, she's pretty certain that no one in the room knows how she feels, about him or any of them, of that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because We Almost Died

**Author's Note:**

> Story takes place closer to the episode 'All Clear' rather than earlier in the series.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;) 

FW-FW-FW-FW-FW-FW

It's a curious feeling, Sam decides, knowing one is about to die. She knows she should be praying; after all, her father and most of her uncles are vicars, and if they knew the situation she was in…well, they would be expecting her to pray first, panic later. Death, they would say, is a natural part of life. From the day we are born, we are all dying. Sam, however, doesn't really care. She knows praying won't save her, and while she knows death is inevitable, she still has regrets, and her biggest one is sitting opposite her. Not that he knows, of course. He has no idea what he means to her; in fact, she's pretty certain that no one in the room knows how she feels, about him or any of them, of that matter.

Sam shifts a little as her feet have gone numb. She's half expecting her life to flash before her eyes, like it's supposed to, but that hasn't happened yet either. All Sam can do is stare at the man in front of her; probably because she knows he is her life, whether he knows it or not. Whether he feels the same or not. Whether he's comfortable with the idea or not. Sam doesn't really care. After all, they're all about to die, so what does it matter?

No, she isn't being melodramatic or fatalistic. Hastings police station has finally been hit with a bomb. Sam knew it was only a matter of time, though part of her hoped it would never happen. But it has, and now they're all sat in a small space…at least the ones who survived are, and there isn't that many of them. Sam feels tears prick her eyes as she recalls the look on Brookie's face, so surprised yet still smiling. It made her feel a little better that even in death, the cheerful sergeant was still beaming like the cheeky chappy he had been. Sam pushes the thought of loss from her mind; losing the sergeant was bad enough, but to lose one of the others…. She swallows and concentrates on their current predicament. There isn't much the survivors of the blast can do except wait now, and Sam thinks that's probably the hardest thing of all. Wait to be rescued, which she knows is highly unlikely. Wait to find a way out; practically impossible, as the building has collapsed on top of them. Brookie was one of the men who died as they rushed to the basement to seek shelter.

And so the only other option left to them is to wait to die. It is only a matter of time, and as Sam looks around the room, she can see everyone else knows it too. The only comfort they have is that none of them will die alone. It's scant consolation, but better than nothing. It's strange, but when words are needed the most, no one is speaking. The only sounds that can be heard are shallow breathing and the occasional moans from the injured. Sam's holding a wad of cloth to one officer's side, her gut instinct telling her he won't survive, her head telling her instinct to shut up. She had to hold onto something, and hope seemed like as good a something as anything. But overlying everything is the need to express herself; to tell the truth, as she has always been encouraged to do. Liars are not tolerated by God, her father told her. Sam thinks sometimes a lie is the best thing; less painful, easier to swallow. Morally wrong, but correct in every other way. But now she doesn't want to lie any more. Not to herself, not to her friends, her colleagues, and not to him.

Someone coughs, and Sam looks around. Her eyes lock with the cougher's, and they smile at the same time. It's forced, strained, but there's still a little genuine benevolence in the action, as well as a few other things. Respect, affection…perhaps even love, if Sam looks deeply enough. The cougher is important to Sam as well, almost as important as him. They've been through so much together, but then she realises that statement is true of almost everyone in the room. They've all endured, survived, and stuck together over the years. In an odd way, they're a family, always caring about each other, looking out for one another, and Sam is struck with the strong sensation of belonging. She makes a decision, a firm, unyielding, unmoving, resolute decision that should a miracle occur, should they get out of this hell they were in, she would not leave Hastings. She was home there. And she would not leave him.

Suddenly, without warning, he looks at her. Sam knows because she's looking at him. He's handsome, to the point of being beautiful, she realises. Careworn with the war, but who isn't? But to her, youthful and with a certain zest for life that was well hidden. Soft but tough, like a well worn teddy bear. Sam coughs to cover up a laugh. She was certain he would not appreciate being likened to a child's soft toy, but she has no intention of telling him. Just like she has no intention of telling him she loves him. She wants to, feels like she should, seeing as they're about to die, but she can't bring herself to utter the words; can't face the entirely possible reality that he will laugh at her, or tell her she's mistaken. It doesn't matter. Anything other than the unequivocal reciprocation of her feelings would do; her heart would be broken by anything less. But she knows it isn't possible, knows he's in love with someone else. Knows who he's in love with as well.

The cougher coughs again and Sam reaches out to him, laying her hand gently on his arm, comforting him. He's her friend, not just her boss or colleague, and she suddenly feels very proud to finally be able to call him that. He has never treated her differently because she's only a driver, only young, only a woman. He has laughed at her, certainly, but never with any malice. And he gave her a place to stay when she needed one. Yes, the cougher is important to Sam, but then he catches her eye again, and she wonders if he's doing it on purpose. But why? Why would he do that? Is it because he knows they're about to die? Is it because he has something he wants to say to her? If that's the case, Sam wishes he'd hurry up and say it. If he carries on staring at her like he is, she doesn't know how long she'll be able to control herself.

She removes her hand from the cougher's arm, knowing that while they might be friends, prolonged contact is still out of the question. Sam thinks it's all rather stupid, really. After all, they're about to die, so why shouldn't they comfort each other? Why shouldn't they hug or hold hands, or simply sit with their shoulders touching? The cougher, she knows, would certainly disagree with her. But would he? Sam sighs. It doesn't matter. The whole point is moot because…because no matter what happens, they will die. He's here with her; she tries to convince herself that's all that matters.

A sudden noise brings Sam's attention to the present moment, and someone, rather stupidly, says, "Sshh! Listen!" As if they were doing anything different to start with. But sure enough, there's definite noises coming from above them. Sounds like people shouting, rubble being moved…. Sam's shocked. Is it possible? Then she hears one voice, very clear, and everything because clear to her.

"Dad? Sam? Dad!"

Foyle shouts back. "We're down here, Andrew! We're in the basement! We're trapped and we can't get out."

"Just hang in there, Dad, we'll get you out!" Andrew shouts back.

Sam looks at Foyle, then at Milner. They're going to get out. Against all odds, they're going to survive. She isn't prepared for this, doesn't know what to do with all the emotion inside her. Doesn't know how to break it to the young man above that she doesn't love him, that her heart belongs to someone else, and in a way, it always has done. Suddenly she wants to die, because surely death would be easier than this situation. She can't lie, because that would mean hurting Andrew, herself, or the object of her affection; quite possibly all three. And the truth…the truth could do the same damage if not more.

"Sam? Are you okay?"

She looks up, sees his face close. He's smiling, concern in his eyes, and she realises he's stood up, despite the problem with his leg. His hand's stretched out, offering her a lift to her feet, and she's reluctant to take it. Not because she doesn't want to. No, the problem is simply that she wants to, too damn much. To take her mind off the warm touch of his skin against hers as their palms slide together, Sam looks around the basement. Everyone's helping everyone else to their feet, arms slung around shoulders, hands clasping hands, and she wonders why they couldn't have done this five minutes ago, half an hour ago…two days ago. Sam wonders, why does it always take a disaster to make people either see or admit the truth?

Then, before she has time to register what's happening, she's outside in the fresh air, the dust blowing off them all in great waves. And he's still there, by her side. He hasn't let go yet, and Sam wonders if it means something or if she just wants it to mean something. But then he's forced to move, forced to get out of the way, as Andrew comes up to her.

"Thank God you're alright," he says, putting his arms around her. Holding her close like she's his to protect. But she isn't, never really has been. Andrew pulls away and frowns. "Sam?"

But Sam isn't paying attention. She's lost him and her eyes are frantically searching for him. Then she sighs. He's there.

Milner's there. Foyle's there. And Andrew right in front of her. Three men, pulling her different ways, causing different emotions to wage war within her. All three care about her, and she about them. But she has no idea what the truth is now. They're all here, the important men in her life…hell, all the important people in her life are right here. She loves one of them, she knows it. When she looks at him, she can feel it.

Milner looks at her and smiles.

Foyle looks at her, but doesn't smile. His eyes do, though.

And Andrew…Andrew's face shows everything he's feeling, and Sam knows she should feel happy. Honoured, even. But she can't.

"Andrew, I'm sorry." Sam pulls away, away from his touch, from his embrace, away from him. Permanently.

Andrew can see it, understands in an instant. Knows he's lost her, but doesn't quite understand why. "Is…is there someone else?"

Time for the truth. "Yes." And unwittingly, Sam's eyes roam.

Andrew follows the stare, which rests on Milner first, then his father. He looks back at her. "Sam?"

But Sam doesn't hear. She's made her choice, knows in her heart what she has to do. Time for the truth. She walks with determination up to him, takes his face in her hands and kisses him. She doesn't care any more, doesn't care about anything. She has to do this, has to know whether his eyes were lying or not. Because when they were in the basement, when he looked at her, she knew he felt the same way.

"Tell me now and I'll leave," she says once she's pulled away from him.

He stares. He knows everyone's watching, knows his most trusted friend and colleague is right there, knows Andrew's there as well. Knows full well the history between Sam and Andrew. And Sam…she's right in front of him, where she's always been. Right there for him to see her. And he always has, but never wanted to admit it. Until today. Today is different. Because they almost died.

"I'm not good with words," he replies quietly. "So…."

This isn't him, he doesn't act on impulse or take charge like this. But with Sam, it feels so right. Damn what everyone else thinks, damn them all. He deserved to be happy as much as the next man, and if she wanted him, he'd be damned fool to say no. He knew she knew her mind. He knew his protests would fall on deaf ears. She had kissed him, and that was all the answer he needed. For once, he wasn't going to think, simply act. Because they had almost died, and that throws everything into a completely different light.

Now it's his turn to pull away and he smiles at Sam's expression. Surprised, joyful, but she's also crying. He wipes the tears away gently with his thumb. "These had better be happy tears, Miss Stewart," he says.

Sam smiles. "Yes, sir, they are."

Foyle shakes his head. "We can't have that. You can't keep calling me sir now. It won't do. And I know maybe using Christopher is a little sudden, so let's just drop the 'sir' for now, okay?"

Sam nods and falls gratefully into his welcoming arms. She sees Andrew's expression, and it isn't horrified. It isn't even surprised, really. Sad, perhaps, because he knows what he's lost, but happy for them both. Sam makes a mental note to talk to him later. And Milner…Milner looks smug, like he's always known, like he's thinking 'it's about time'…like he wants to say 'I told you say'. Sam will just hug him later; words won't be necessary.

"Why?" she asks after a while.

Foyle doesn't need to ask the meaning of the question. "Because we almost died," he answers simply. "And it needed the impending doom of death to make me see what has always been here."

"In that case, I'm glad we almost died," Sam says, and the funny thing is, she says it seriously.

FIN


End file.
